


Is It Sweet?

by Celly1995



Series: the kazer dick cake fic of shame and glory [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Not Hockey Player(s), Baker Patrick, Bakery, Cake, Developing Relationship, Hockey Player Jonny, Idiots in Love, M/M, One Night Stands, POV Alternating, Patrick Kane is not a Pro Hockey Player, Patrick Sharp Is a Troll, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 22:22:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6725803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celly1995/pseuds/Celly1995
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Jonny becomes an unwitting model, Christmas comes early for Sharpy, and there are just dicks everywhere.</p><p>(AU in which not every person is a pro hockey player, but most still are)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Is It Sweet?

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been waiting for me to write more than the outline for the last year and a half. Sat down the other day to prod at it, and wrote the whole thing in 3 sittings. Much thanks to the two lovely friends who refused to forget about this thing over the last ~16-18 months, and to my beta, for working outside her fandoms for me.
> 
> I'd say I'm sorry for the utter ridiculousness of this whole thing, except I'm not sorry at all. Sharp and Saad are still Hawks, here, because I had this idea mid-last season, and also ~denial.
> 
> (Title taken from The Fratellis' "Chelsea Dagger")

The hotel room still smells like sex and sweat as Jonny walks quietly out of the bathroom, picking up his clothes as he makes his way across the carpet.

It's either really late or really early, depending on how you want to look at it. He's got morning skate in about six hours, which means there's time to get home, shower, and pass the fuck out for a while before he has to drag himself back out of bed. He should be exhausted, all things considered, but there's a spring in his step anyway. And it's entirely due to the guy sprawled out over the hotel bed, snoring lightly.

He almost never does one night stands. He definitely doesn't do them with guys—especially random guys he hasn't vetted in some way—after a drink or two at the bar and a suggested trip to a hotel a few blocks away, in his own city.

But he's also never met a guy quite like Kaner.

Jonny's still not quite sure what the hell had made him do it, had pushed him to going up to Kaner in the first place and striking up a conversation about the game playing on the bar's nearest television. He'd had two beers, not enough to do anything other than lend a slight, pleasant buzz to the already good evening. But there was something about the guy that drew Jonny in, told him they'd fit together so damned well. Kaner had been in the middle of some rant about the Kings (and seriously, fuck the Kings) when Jonny realized he'd been staring at Kaner's hands—which were doing an awful lot of gesturing, with the occasional pause to rub at his cheek or neck—in a way that was not really at all subtle. And he must have made a face or something, because Kaner had stopped mid-sentence, a grin slowly stretching over his face, like he'd caught Jonny looking and liked it.

After that, Jonny had been unable to keep his eyes on anything but Kaner. That smile, the blond curls, the hands, the muscles Jonny could see only somewhat-hidden beneath the knit fabric of his sweater, and especially those eyes, clear and bright like the bluest of topaz gems.

There had been no twitchy, paranoid moments in negotiating getting out of the bar for someplace more private. Just easy conversation, an offer floated casually, and an unhurried walk in the cold night air to a hotel room already booked five blocks over. It wasn't a room that felt intended for quick hook-ups—just an ordinary hotel room, a few things hung in the closet, stuff on the dresser and bathroom counter that made it look like the sort of place any traveller would have if staying somewhere for a handful of days—and that relaxed Jonny further. Kaner said something about being in town on business until a flight early tomorrow morning; beyond that, he gave no more explanation, and Jonny asked no questions in that vein. The topic of Jonny's work never came up.

What _did_ come up was a lot more fun.

He hovers near the door once he's dressed, wondering how bad of an idea it would be to leave his number. Kaner's still snoring, and that should put Jonny off a little, but it doesn't. If the guy woke up, Jonny could feel out the situation, maybe get his number instead. After another moment of internal debate, he puts on his shoes, lets the guy sleep so he'll be rested for his flight, and slips out the door.

* * *

Jonny knows, simply by virtue of the look on Sharpy's face, that he's not going to stop until he gets his way. What's worse is seeing the faces of the other guys and knowing Sharpy's already won this one. Jonny sighs. He could pull rank, yeah, but he'll just get more of that 'Captain Serious' and even 'Captain Buzzkill' chirping, and he's just not in the mood. Why he even agreed to go out to grab coffee when there's perfectly good (or, well, at least not-terrible) coffee and tea at the hotel, he's not even sure. Temporary lapse in judgement after a good practice, maybe. Sure.

Still, he can't give up too easily. "Fucking _nutrition plan,_ dude."

Sharpy just looks pointedly at the decidedly not-nutrition-plan-approved drinks a couple of the guys already have in their hands and raises his eyebrows at Jonny. "Seriously?"

Sometimes Jonny wants to rip the A right off Sharpy's jersey and smack him in the face with it.

"Fucking...all right, fine. We'll go. But anything bad comes of it, it's on you."

Sharpy just flashes one of the smiles most people seem to think is charming. "Hey, look. We don't even have to eat anything, okay? It's supposedly an experience just to _go_. I mean, come on, Toes, this is fucking _Buffalo._ What else are we going to do until we have to report in?"

Jonny hates that he has at least that one point on him. He rolls his eyes, half at the stupid nickname and half just because Sharpy, but he doesn't argue anymore when Sharpy gets the rest of the guys' attention and leads a large handful of them up the sidewalk, the ones not still waiting for drinks or electing to stay behind. He's not even really listening, just letting whatever Sharpy's telling Saader and Crow about the place having amazing reviews wash right over him, and he doesn't even really look at the name of the place as they step inside. And maybe he should have.

Because dicks. 

Everywhere.

On cupcakes, on cakes, as the actual shape of the cakes themselves. There are tits and pussies and all that, too, but everywhere Jonny looks, it's dicks.

Jonny can feel his face turning a little red. It's not like he hasn't seen dicks before. A few particular sexual encounters aside, he spends a lot of time in a fucking professional sports locker room, not to mention all the ones leading up to that since he was a kid. He's _seen_ dicks before. But all they fucking need is Deadspin to run a photo of his team in a place that apparently does a good trade in phallic baked goods, probably making a killing off bachelor and bachelorette parties. 

So help him, if Sharpy and Shawzy (or any of the fucking others) walk out of here with cupcakes with anatomical bits on the top, Jonny is so fucking done. He can't be held responsible for whatever happens.

He turns to say something to the group of guys he's responsible for, fucking guys who may be adults but are far from grownups—Christ, Shawzy's got that look on his face, maybe he's already too late—and he's about to actually raise his volume and use the Captain Voice he tries not to abuse and let them know that okay, great, they've been here, he's leaving, and the rest of them are, too, when he spots a giant cake sitting on the counter in the back, apparently almost ready for someone's order, and his voice dies in his throat.

That's his dick.

No, seriously. He knows what his own dick looks like, okay, and that's _his_. He could fucking prove it, if asked, if that wouldn't get him _arrested_ and not just on Deadspin. Unlike virtually every other cake or cupcake or chocolate or hard candy Jonny can see in this place, this particular dick is hyper-realistic instead of having that sort of cutesy cartoon or caricature look. It's uncut, it's the right shade, the fucking pubic hair (Jesus Christ, it's got pubic hair) is in the right proportion and is the right color, and there's even the goddamn mole about two thirds of the way towards the base that Jonny's seen basically his whole life.

What the actual fuck?

There's a blonde girl standing behind the counter, smiling at everyone, and she's saying something to Seabs when Jonny finally finds his voice again and cuts her off. "Who made that cake?"

She looks kind of annoyed at the interruption of a potential sale, but Jonny doesn't care. "Oh, that one," she says, and now she looks amused. "That's not our most common style—we're usually more about the humor and simplicity instead of straight-up realism—but that's one of Patty's." She turns away from Jonny, leaning back so she can see into what Jonny assumes is the actual kitchen part of this place. "Hey, Patty! Come out here a second! Someone's asking about your custom cake!"

Before Jonny can really even find the words to protest—because what's he going to say to some random cake decorator about what is essentially his dick as a cake? _That's a pretty good likeness, maybe I'll order one for myself sometime?—_ someone's rounding the corner, drying their hands on a towel as they hit the front counter, and—

—and shit, Jonny realizes. That's Kaner.

 

****

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Sharpy stops in his appreciation of the cupcakes with the marzipan tits on top, four different skin tones available from the looks of it, when he senses a disturbance in the Force. He leaves Saader and Shawzy to their debate over whether the different colors might taste different as well and looks around to find the problem, only to settle on Tazer's face. It's pale and weird, and Sharpy's wondering if maybe chocolate vaginas were a little too much for their dear captain to handle, and then he follows the intense stare Tazer's got going on and sees what has his attention.

It's a dick cake. 

That shouldn't be a big deal, it's definitely not the first item Tazer's seen since walking in. Granted, it's fucking huge compared to the other stuff in the case at the front, and sort of creepily real-looking, but why on earth would Tazer be so...freaked out?

Actually. Wait. Now that Sharpy's looking, that particular cake looks sort of...like he's seen it before. He tilts his head thoughtfully. It's suddenly striking him how that cake is actually, almost certainly, really familiar, and he's definitely seen it before. Not as a cake, though. There are locker room rules of etiquette, yes, but that doesn't mean you don't catch glimpses of your teammate's junk, okay? It happens.

He's trying to piece this mystery together, because now he's actually thinking that might sort of look like Tazer's dick, after all, not that Sharpy's ever, like, _looked_ , before, on purpose, and turns his attention back to his captain. He wonders if there's maybe a picture of Jonathan Toews' dick out there somewhere, maybe in some nameless online archive? Because that would be _phenomenal_. Sharpy can totally work with a gift like that. He's starting to wonder how someone gets away with that, if Tazer was stupid enough to forget to demand an NDA back in his rookie days or something, or had pissed off some ex-lover somehow, or had got caught by someone at some gym or massage place or even that float place he loves so much, when Tazer asks the blonde girl at the front counter some sort of strangled-sounding question about who decorated the cake he's been staring at kind of intensely—even for Tazer—and Sharpy doesn't even pretend he's not listening for the answer. 

Sharpy's mind starts going into overdrive as soon as she says "that's one of Patty's," but he can't recall Tazer ever mentioning hooking up with anyone named Patty, or even Patricia or Trish or anything else along those lines, not that he ever talks much about anyone he's not actually _involved_ with, because apparently he doesn't _do_ much of the casual hook-up thing. And Tazer's face is utterly without recognition, nothing but confused blinking when the name is said. 

Sharpy goes back to wondering if there's some secret place on the internet that has pictures of NHL players' dicks or something—maybe with a rating system in place (if there is, his had better not be up there. And if it is, it had better be number one, because his dick is just as nice as his face, and everyone knows he's basically the hottest guy in the league, let's face it)—when someone comes out from the back. It's just some guy in black jeans and a chef's coat, who has streaks of icing and maybe flour or something on the apron he's got on over everything else. He's not looking up right away, instead apparently focused on wiping his hands on a towel as he rounds the corner, a pleasantly generic "what can I do for you today?" already mostly out by the time he stops moving, the glass counter between him and Tazer. His greeting dies off towards the end, and Sharpy totally sees the way the guy's eyes widen and his face lights up for about half a second before his eyes flick over to everyone else milling around in front of the counter, and the smile abruptly disappears, replaced with something like shock and then terror. 

The guy—he's probably Tazer's age, give or take, though he's kind of short, with curly hair that should probably be under a hat or something, if he's in a kitchen—and Tazer just fucking _stare_ at each other for a few seconds. Tazer's face goes fucking _white_ for a moment, so much so that Sharpy worries they're going to be picking their captain up off the floor or yelling for smelling salts or an ambulance or some damn thing, before it goes bright fucking red almost at the same pace the other guy's face does. They've got matching looks of horror going on, wide eyes and flaming faces practically mirroring each other, and—

—oh my God, this is like Sharpy's birthday, because that _is_ Tazer's dick, in cake form, and Sharpy will bet his next Cup Day turn that he knows exactly how someone in this bakery got the image to use in their work. This is basically the best day ever, even if they _are_ in Buffalo.

(When Sharpy tells his wife about this later, he's going to have to amend that statement to exclude any championship-winning days from that ranking, lest she think he's sustained a concussion, and to exclude their wedding day and the births of their children, lest he wants to actually sustain said concussion at her hands, or at least sleep on the couch until next season.)

Tazer finally breaks the horrified stare-down he and the baker have going, turning on his heel and making a hasty retreat back outside, dragging a few of the other guys with him—a protesting Mutt and Saader amongst them—as he says something about it being time to go, before Q comes looking for them.

The guy—Patty, apparently—watches Tazer go, and Sharpy watches him watch him. Everyone else sort of shuffles their way out—Sharpy thinks he sees one of the rookies slip some brunette at the counter a few dollars as he tucks a plastic-wrapped something into his jacket—but Sharpy hangs back a bit. It's not like they have to make a bus or something, and Sharpy's pretty damned sure there are still a few guys hanging around the coffee shop a few doors down, and Tazer will probably feel like he has to gather them up before they all leave for the hotel. Patty's really still not all that old, and Sharpy feels that sort of big-brother surge of something that makes him want to help the rookies with all things hockey and life. 

It doesn't help that it's pretty damned obvious that Patty's both kind of embarrassed, and definitely sad or upset or something that Tazer's run away like a coward, or maybe just an asshole. 

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Patty," the first counter girl sighs, moving closer to the baker. "That was him, wasn't it?"

"Shut up," Patty mutters. "I'll be in the back if you actually need anything." He sidesteps her attempt at a hug or whatever she was going for and turns back the direction he came. Sharpy almost leaves, himself, but something stops him.

"Hey," he says, stepping up against the counter, where the blonde is straightening the display of dick-shaped cake candles. "What did you mean, 'that was him'? Did you—did you recognize that guy?"

The girl—her own, cleaner, chef's coat has the name "Erica" embroidered on one side of the chest—raises her eyebrows at him. "I recognize almost all of you. But that's not what I meant. I just realized that _that's_ who my brother went and fell for when he was in Chicago last month." She snorts. "All I could get out of him was that he met someone who was totally—in his words—'out of his league'. I didn't know he meant, like, _actual_ league—rec versus NHL."

The pun's bad enough that even Sharpy winces. But hold up. "Fell for?"

Erica shrugs. "Like I said, he wouldn't give details. But he was on cloud nine for a while. And I guess that explains the extra loud yelling at the TV when the Hawks game was on the other week."

Hm. Interesting. He thinks back, tries to remember if Tazer had said anything about meeting someone recently. All he comes up with is a morning practice where Jonny had been in a _much_ better mood than usual, which had kept up for several days, until that shitty game against the Wild when _no one_ had been pleasant to be around. Maybe?

"D'you mind if I...?" he asks, gesturing with his head to where the guy disappeared just a moment ago. He has sort of an idea, but he needs to feel some things out, first.

Erica looks at him for a really long moment, sizing him up, and it's the same look Abby gives him when she's trying to figure out if he's full of bullshit. Finally, she shrugs. "Just be nice. And don't touch anything."

Sharpy gives her a little salute and steps back behind the counter, then around the wall that cuts off the kitchen from the storefront area. The guy's standing at a waist-high wooden table, kneading something light peachy-pink. He doesn't seem to have heard Sharpy enter, so he calls out. "Yo, Patty!"

Patty turns around, rolling his eyes, but promptly drops the annoyed look once he sees Sharpy standing there. Yeah, that's recognition in his eyes. And it's totally different from the way he looked at Tazer for those first few milliseconds, with that brief flash of delighted surprise. "Can I help you?" His voice is cautious. Sharpy guesses he can't blame the kid.

"Saw that cake out there you made. Given that and the looks on both your faces, I assume you and Tazer know each other?" Patty swallows audibly, and Sharpy feels a little bad. "What I mean is, I'm pretty sure I know how it ends up there's someone who has the knowledge of that particular design, here in this bakery. What I want to know is..." Actually. What _does_ he want to know? This would be prime chirping material, he'll probably never get anything better on Tazer, but something about this feels...weird, in a way. Important, maybe. "You're not interested in money, when it comes to him, or anything, are you?"

Patty's eyes flash, and there's ice in that blue. He looks so thoroughly insulted and angry that Sharpy blinks and nearly takes a step back. "Fuck you, money. I will never go to the press or anyone else and tell them we hooked up. I'm not looking for some sort of pay out. That's not why I said yes when he asked."

That sort of delivers a whole hell of a lot more information than Sharpy had been expecting. He hadn't even really been meaning to out Tazer in any form, so much as wanting to make sure this kid hadn't seen some sort of sugar daddy in Tazer, even more than as a potential blackmail target. And it's definitely interesting to know Tazer had been the one to instigate whatever the hell they'd done, and not the other way around, despite Patty knowing full well who he'd fallen in with. "You like him."

Patty's still got that pissed-off, defiant thing going, and the look he levels at Sharpy is challenging. "Yeah. He's a great guy. So what? I can keep my mouth shut. Even my pain-in-the-ass sisters didn't drag it out of me."

Sharpy holds up his hands. "I believe you. Okay. Here. I'm going to make an offer, and you can take it or leave it. Even if you take it, I'm not promising a goddamned thing. But why don't you give me your number?"

Patty's eyebrows shoot right the hell up. "Hey. I can see how you might get the impression, but I'm not so easy I'm just going to jump into bed with any guy in the NHL."

"What?" Sharpy snorts. "No, that's not what I meant." He'd say 'don't flatter yourself,' but figures the poor guy's already had a rough enough morning, and he doesn't need to add an insult into the mix. God, he's totally going to have to relay this whole thing to Abby when he sees her. "Just give me your number, I'll see if there's an opportunity to turn it over to Tazer at some point." He pulls his phone out of his pocket, unlocks it and opens it to his contacts, holding it out. "Here."

Though he hesitates for a good several seconds, chewing on his lower lip, Patty finally takes the phone, types something in, and hands it back. "Don't fuck me over. Please."

"I won't," Sharpy promises. He knows he's got a reputation as a prankster, but that's not where his aim is with this. It's one thing to fuck with his teammates; it's another to mess with some poor random dude whose only real mistake is being into Tazer. He glances down at the new contact. "I thought your name was Patty."

Patty—Kaner, apparently, since that's the only name entered into the info fields—huffs in a way that's both annoyed and very resigned. "Only my sisters call me that. It's Patrick Kane, but friends call me Kaner. Not that you...well, you know what I mean. That's how Jonny knows me." He shrugs. "We didn't really do the whole exchanging of full names or details thing."

"Well, nice to meet you, Kaner," Sharpy says, stuffing his phone back in his pocket. He's really got to get back to the group. "I'll see what I can do. But no promises." He leaves the guy to whatever it is he was making before he was interrupted and steps back out into the main part of the bakery. Erica and the brunette—and a third girl he hadn't seen before, who's not wearing a uniform or anything, but is poking around back behind the case—are chatting about how it's too bad a sense of professionalism keeps them from asking for autographs when anyone recognizable ever walks through their doors when he steps out. He waves again to Erica on his way out, snagging a business card from the counter as he passes them. 

Couldn't hurt anything to have a couple of the guys sign a team photo or something and send it their way. 

He probably shouldn't tell anyone in PR about that plan, though, given the kind of bakery this is.

Sharpy has to jog a little to catch up to everyone, now the full group that includes the guys who stayed at the Starbucks during the little bakery excursion. He notices that the only ones Tazer's standing near are the guys who weren't at the bakery. A few of the guys are chatting with each other as they walk, but Tazer's still kind of red-faced. His jaw is clenched, too, and he's pretty steadfastly Not Looking at Anyone.

Sharpy sighs. This is before a game and all, and he doesn't really want to fuck with Tazer's whole _process_ or whatever, but he also kind of needs to do something about this. He's got the A, after all. And that means he's got his captain's back.

"Tazer!" Sharpy crows, slinging an arm around Tazer's shoulder. "Ready to kick some ass tonight?"

Tazer flinches and tries to shrug Sharpy's arm off as he mutters something like "of course," but Sharpy's not going to let him. He locks his elbow and keeps the captain close, so that the other guys sort of end up in front of them, not paying them any attention at all, which is just what Sharpy wants. 

"Look," he says, making sure to keep his voice low, so only Tazer can hear him. "Don't fucking worry, all right? I'm pretty sure no one else noticed your giant dick cake back there, or at least didn't recognize it. And even if anyone _did_ , I'm one-hundred-percent positive no one else put together how that particular cake decorator was able to make a cake in that particular image." Tazer pales considerably, and Sharpy rolls his eyes. "I don't give a flying fuck who you choose to share your bed with, Tazer. You Can Play and all that. Your secret's safe with me, honest. All I care about is that you don't let this fuck with your head when we step out onto that ice tonight."

Tazer swallows. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. No one's going to make a big deal out of it. No one else even fucking knows anything went on back there. Fucking relax and get your head in the game, all right?" 

Tazer swallows hard again, nods. "Yeah. All right."

"Good man." He drops his arm from Tazer's shoulders and grins at him. "But, if it makes you feel any better, that guy totally seemed like he was actually into you. Said you were a great guy, even. You know, maybe I could—"

Tazer glares at him this time. "I don't need your fucking relationship advice," he mutters, rolling his eyes and shoving his hands into his pockets. He's so very wrong, though. He _obviously_ needs Sharpy's help. Sharpy's got an _awesome_ wife, she's hot and all-around great, because Sharpy knows how to pick 'em, thank you. Also, Tazer said "relationship advice" and not "sex advice," which absolutely delights Sharpy. He's so fucking hopeless—and helpless—when it comes to anything not hockey. 

"Pretty fucking sure he still likes you," Sharpy adds, anyway. "Even though you ran out like an asshole." He jogs ahead again, this time to see what the hell their little Finnish rookie bought when he thought no one else was looking, leaving Tazer spluttering back there alone. 

And he doesn't fail to notice the way Tazer _does_ actually seem cheered up the rest of the way back to the hotel. He definitely looks less likely to fling himself or anyone who says something into traffic, and even the ol' murder-eyes mellow out a little. 

They're all dressing for the game several hours later when Sharpy gets his plan worked out. He's one of the first ones ready, so he uses the time to whip out his phone and send a few texts.

_Hey, Kaner. Patrick Sharp. I've been thinking. Can't get you tickets to tonight's game or anything, but I think we can set something up before we fly out in the morning._

Kaner's reply takes a few minutes, enough for Sharpy to chirp Duncs and Seabs a bit while he's waiting, so he's not doing anything suspicious like stare at his phone until it vibrates. _Set what kind of thing up?_

_Thinking maybe I can coax Tazer into going out after the game. Easier if it's a bunch of the guys. And maybe you can just so happen to be wherever we end up. You know, give you guys a chance to talk._

There's another, longer hesitation this time, almost long enough that Sharpy's about to have to turn his phone off and stuff it in his locker to head out onto the ice. But it comes through: _Alright. Can't really be more embarrassed than I was earlier, or screw things up with Jonny any worse. Fuck it, I'll give it a shot._

Sharpy grins and sends the thumbs up emoji, followed by a note saying he'll text him this evening, and demanding Kaner root for the right team, despite his unfortunate hometown. Then he puts his phone away and gets his head back in the zone. After all, they've got a game to win, especially if he wants Tazer in a good enough mood to agree to go out and let this little plan have a chance.

He forgets to account for the fact that Tazer's a stubborn, difficult bastard. 

They fucking destroy the Sabres, 5-1, everyone's in a pretty great mood, and _still_ Sharpy's having a hard time trying to get Tazer to go out with the guys. He doesn't want to have to stoop to begging, because Tazer will absolutely scent that something is up if he does. He fucking told Kaner he couldn't promise anything, but he at least wants to do _something_.

Help comes in the form of a wide-eyed, imploring Saader and a casual, mature "come on, why not?" from _Hoss_ , of all people. Hossa, who's one of the least likely to come out and drink or whatever other bullshit they do, citing his privilege to decline such activities as the resident old man. Apparently, Tazer's more amenable to things when those two gang up on him. Good to know. 

They've been at what passes for a club here for maybe thirty minutes when Sharpy gets a chance to text Kaner and let him know where to be. Of course, it's not even ten fucking minutes later that some random drunk asshole spills a full beer all over Tazer, drenching him both front and back. He tries to laugh it off, but Sharpy can tell it's just in case anyone's got a phone out, in case this shit ends up on Twitter or Deadspin or anywhere else. When Tazer announces a few minutes later that he's headed back to the hotel for the night to shower, Sharpy doesn't even try to stop him. He only feels bad he's going to have to break it to Kaner.

Actually. Wait. Maybe this is better.

 _Change of plans,_ he sends as soon as Tazer's out the door, typing with one thumb while he shoves Mutt away from the screen, practically palming his face. Shawzy's basically a good kid, but he's mouthy as hell and probably the last guy Sharpy wants to know about what's going on, especially since he's trying to do this on the down-low. He finally foists Mutt off on Saader, hoping that Man-Child's chill will rub off a little. At the very least, it's a pretty easy way to distract the fucker. _Tazer's headed back to the hotel._

 _I guess just give him my number when you guys get back to Chicago, if you think he'd want it,_ is Kaner's pathetic reply, and Sharpy actually fucking rolls his eyes. He's starting to think maybe these two idiots _do_ belong together. _No big deal. Thanks for trying._

That's even more pathetic. 

Sharpy just texts the name and address of the hotel, followed by Tazer's room number. It's easy enough to remember—it's the one at the end of the hall, in the corner, and the only room it shares a wall with is Sharpy's. _Just go. Again, no promises, but it at least gets you a shot._ He thinks about it a moment while he waits for someone to get back with the next round of beers. _If it's not any trouble, maybe bring a cupcake or something as a peace offering._ Yeah, it's not part of their nutrition plan, but Tazer's human, and Sharpy knows he's not adverse to desserts all the time. _Gluten-free, though,_ he adds, because Sharpy is fucking considerate like that, with Tazer's diet and shit.

Ten minutes later, all he gets back is _okay_.

That's literally it. Sharpy checks his phone a few more times, surprised when it somehow manages to be almost two hours after they've made it to the club and he still hasn't heard any other sort of update. He hopes that means Kaner and Tazer pulled their heads out of their respective asses and are making the most of their relative privacy.

And because Sharpy's such a great guy, he doesn't even hightail it back to his own room, to maybe see if he can verify that's what's going on with a judicious application of eavesdropping .

Not right away, anyway.

 

****

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

There's a knock on the door as Jonny emerges from the hotel bathroom, freshly showered and dressed in sweatpants and his bright red Hawks "Strength" T-shirt. He's thankful room service is prompt, delivering almost to the minute when he'd requested before hopping into the shower to wash off the smell of beer. His clothes reek like a brewery, and he just hopes the plastic bag he's got them tied up in keeps the rest of his shit from smelling like that until he gets back to Chicago and can toss it all into the wash. He doesn't rush to answer it, though, instead towelling his hair once more. He'd told the woman on the other end that whoever delivered his food should leave it outside his door. He doesn't _usually_ encounter too many hotel employees who are a little cranky he and his teammates have defeated the home team so badly, if they get recognized at all, but that's not to say it doesn't happen. And Jonny's just not in the mood to take the chance on that sort of thing tonight.

There's a silver tray outside his door, just as expected. But there's also a pair of legs standing beside the tray, and Jonny did _not_ expect that. 

He expected the guy attached to the legs even less.

"Kaner?" 

For a second, Jonny thinks he's imagining shit, maybe it's just some other guy with blond, curly hair and bright blue eyes and shoulders wider than he should possess. But then the guy flashes this stupid, nervous smile and licks his lips, and Jonny knows, even before he hears, "Uh, yeah, hey, Jonny."

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

The nervous smile falters. "I brought you something." He holds up the small white cardboard box Jonny has utterly failed to notice before now. "A sort of peace offering, apology thing. It's, uh, gluten-free. And dairy-free, too, if that's okay."

Jonny just stares. One, how did Kaner fucking find him in the first place? Two, how is he aware that Jonny doesn't do gluten? "What the hell?"

The smile falters again, then just completely disappears. He sees Kaner steel himself, both hears and sees the deep breath he takes. "Uh. Patrick Sharp—"

"Fucking _Sharpy_ ," Jonny huffs. Fucking meddling old woman. Jonny should have known he wasn't going to get off so easily. "I don't know what he put you up to, but—"

Kaner cuts him off. "He didn't put me up to anything. He only told me where you'd be. Listen, I really just wanted to let you know that I'm not going to say anything. I'm not interested in the media or anything. I maybe sort of knew who you were before you even said anything back in that bar in Chicago, but I swear, it's not something you have to worry about. I wasn't in it for...any of that shit, whatever it is you're thinking. But here." He holds the box out again, basically forces it into Jonny's hand so that he has to grab it or end up dropping it right on the carpet out in the hallway. "And I'm sorry you saw that cake. I mean, I'm sorry you looked embarrassed and all, and I swear it's not like I advertised the inspiration for the design. It's just...look, okay, you have a really good-looking dick, and it _was_ inspirational, and I just—"

He doesn't get to finish his sentence, because Jonny reaches out and grabs him by the arm, yanking him inside the room. The _last_ fucking thing he needs is this conversation getting out to _anyone_ on any sort of social or other media, and the hallway of this hotel is not exactly the most private of places. "Jesus Christ, get in here," Jonny hisses, practically slamming the door shut behind them. He realizes sort of distantly that some other people might have slammed the door shut with the other person still stuck out in the hallway.

From the surprised look on Kaner's face, he's had a similar thought.

"Uh. Right. Anyway. Again, sorry you found out about the cake. But I'm _not_ sorry about that night back in Chicago, okay? Because that was fucking amazing. Hands down, best night of my life. And I don't even mean just the sex, although that was awesome. But also because I really liked you, okay, and I thought we had fun, and you were great to talk to, and just...I liked you as a person, too, and it kind of sucks that it can never go any further. So, hey, I'll make sure to keep my distance in Chicago, once I'm there—"

Jonny's mind is fucking spinning so hard he feels like he might have to sit down for a minute. He'd had a lot of fun with Kaner, enough that he'd considered actually leaving his number, even knowing that was probably the stupidest thing he could do, especially without having the foresight to secure a signed Non-Disclosure Agreement. And Kaner's nailed what Jonny liked about it so much—that, apart from the seriously fantastic sex, he'd thought they actually _connected_ in a way that usually takes Jonny forever to do with someone. And what the fuck, had he just said something about additional trips to Chicago?

"You'll be in Chicago again?" It's his first real contribution to any part of this conversation, and Kaner's eyebrows go up. "I thought you were just in town for business. Like a one-time thing." He realizes he's still holding the small cardboard box in his hand and sets it on the dresser, because he needs his brain to focus on whatever the hell is happening here, and not be distracted by unimportant shit like holding onto some random object.

"No? I mean, I was in town for that, yeah. I didn't lie. But I was there looking at locations to open another bakery. I signed a lease last week for a place downtown, actually. Should be open in a couple of months, assuming the work goes okay and I can find some decent staff."

His brain gets stuck on that, sort of. Kaner will be local. He's not just some random person Jonny'll never see again. Holy shit.

"But really, I swear, you can relax. I'll never make a problem for you. You won't have to worry about seeing me again. Yeah, okay, I might catch a game at the UC here and there, but I'll make sure to steer clear, so you—"

"Do you _want_ to avoid me and forget anything happened between us?" Jonny blurts out, because he's so fucking off-kilter that he can't manage normal, rational conversation. His mouth's just sort of bypassing the whole self-control center of his brain, acting more like his gut than anything else. 

Kaner blinks, and the look on his face is definitely exasperated, like he's just getting how little Jonny's actually been listening to him talk (which is far less the case than that Jonny's brain is still playing catch-up here, after being blindsided by Kaner's appearance at his door). "Shit, no! But I get it, the whole thing where you'd want to forget I exist, you know?" He shrugs and looks down at the floor, his shoulders hunched, and it's such a resigned, hopeless bit of body language that Jonny feels a little alarmed at how much he wants to fix it.

"What if I don't want to forget you exist?" he asks quietly, because his brain's _finally_ all caught up now, and he's finally sure of what he's doing, what's happening here, what's been happening the whole time. This isn't some guy who just wants to cross a famous name off some list or put a notch on a bedpost. Jonny's not entirely sure how he knows that, but he does. This is a guy who's looking for something more meaningful than that, just like Jonny is. Hell, this might even be a guy who will come over and do nothing more exciting than play some Mario Kart, if Jonny's really fucking lucky.

Kaner's head snaps up at that, and Jesus, his eyes are so fucking blue Jonny can't help but want to get lost in them. "What?"

"What if I _want_ to see you again?"

The change on Kaner's face is drastic. In the space of a second, maybe two or three, he goes from looking defeated to so fucking _hopeful_. It transforms him from someone tired and beaten and embarrassed into someone beautiful. Jonny doesn't really even think about it, just leans in and kisses him, gentle and careful.

And it's fucking fantastic, just like it was that one night. Kaner lets out a soft gasp that Jonny swallows down, shifting closer so he can get one hand up to run through the curls at the nape of Kaner's neck. He can feel Kaner shudder at the touch before he presses up against Jonny, his own hand tentatively resting against the small of Jonny's back as he tilts his face up just a little more, deepening the kiss in a way Jonny really likes, and—

—fuck it all, he's going to have to thank Sharpy for this, isn't he?

No, you know what? He doesn't even care. More important things to focus on right now. Like the heat of Kaner's body, pressed against his, the slide of their tongues together, and the quiet, panting huff and subsequent soft moan when Jonny pulls back, grazes his teeth over the spot on Kaner's neck, just below the corner of his jaw, before separating from Kaner enough to really look at him.

"Fuck, Jonny," Kaner whispers, and it's low and husky and almost broken, and Jonny very nearly gives in to the impulse to drag him over to the bed, move things along.

Instead, he just drops a light, quick kiss on Kaner's lips. "I _do_ want to see you again," he says softly, in case Kaner somehow fucking missed that. But better to be straight-up about things. "And not just once or twice."

Kaner looks dazed, but his eyes are that amazingly clear ice-blue that reminds Jonny of cold days spent under a cloudless sky on the rink outside, everything crisp and fresh and the ice solid beneath his feet as he glides along. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"So, three times, then?" He cracks a smile, and there it is, some of the humor and sarcasm Jonny had loved from the very first bit of conversation back in that too-loud bar in Chicago. 

Jonny rolls his eyes and snorts in amusement. "Let's maybe not keep count."

Kaner eyes him for a moment. "You really do want to try...this?"

"Yeah, I do. I can't promise anything, but I really do want to give this a shot. I know you've probably got a lot of work to do, if you're opening a new place and all, and I'm out of town half the time for half the year, but if you're willing to give it a try, so am I."

There's enough hesitation that Jonny knows Kaner's actually thinking it through, going through the logistics and processing the hurdles they're probably going to face from the get-go. So when he grins again and nods, Jonny feels pretty confident about things. "Yeah. Let's see what happens." Jonny grins back, and Kaner's smile gets even wider. 

Yeah. This could maybe be something.

They don't have sex that night, and Kaner actually leaves maybe five minutes later, his number safely in Jonny's phone and his in Jonny's, lingering kisses exchanged before Kaner heads out the door to avoid running into any of Jonny's teammates who are due to start staggering in at any moment. Jonny just sits on his bed alone, grinning like a moron for a solid ten minutes after he's gone, then happens to look at the white box on his dresser.

It's not a dick inside, which is kind of a relief. It's just a simple cupcake, chocolate with only a little chocolate icing on top. Jonny allows himself a bite, just to see how it is, and then a second, and then one more. It's fucking _good_ , none of that weird sandy texture that happens with a lot of gluten-free baking, and Jonny thinks that he might be good and fucked, diet-wise, when Kaner finally does get his new place open, if this is the kind of shit he can do. 

The thought makes him grin all over again. Kaner in Chicago.

He ends up alone in the elevator with Sharpy early the next morning as they get ready to hit the airport, and Jonny offers him nothing more than his basic, pre-coffee "Morning." Sharpy returns the greeting, and Jonny steadfastly ignores the way he can feel Sharpy scrutinizing him.

"Have a good night in?" Sharpy finally asks, and Jonny tries not to roll his eyes. He knew the fucker wouldn't be able to resist some prodding about Kaner. 

Jonny just leans back against the elevator railing, keeping his voice neutral. "I guess."

"Enjoy the privacy?"

Jonny's not going to give him the satisfaction. He shrugs. "Got some stuff settled and taken care of," he says, dismissive, pushing away from the wall and stepping out in front of Sharpy as the doors open on the lobby. He catches the disappointed look on Sharpy's face in the mirrored windows in front of them and doesn't allow himself to smirk. 

No matter how much he wants to.

 

****

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Sharpy's lounging on the couch with the remote in-hand, enjoying a moment of utter relaxation and laziness. The season's well over, there's nowhere he has to be, and he's got one kid out at a friend's birthday party and the other upstairs napping. Life is fucking good.

He hears Abby come back from dropping Maddy off, on the phone with one of her friends when she walks in, and he leaves her to it. He briefly considers getting up when he hears the doorbell, but Abby's got that shit covered. He goes back to the TV until a few moments later when her voice floats to him from the foyer: "Hey, babe? Come here for a sec."

Sharpy hits pause, because he wants to see this muscle car's bad-ass reveal after the total wreck it was when the show started, and goes to find his wife. There'd been a definite note of confusion in her voice, or maybe some sort of curiosity, and he should totally see why. "What's up?" he asks, standing behind her and hooking his chin over her shoulder. She's got a shiny black and red box in her hands from some place he doesn't recognize.

Abby shrugs, turning her face to be able to kiss his cheek. "This says it's for us. Did you order something?"

"No." He looks at the box more closely. "Did someone just drop it on the doorstep?"

"Courier came with it. Called me Mrs. Sharp, said this was for us. Just handed it over and left. Didn't even make me sign anything." She shrugs again. "I don't think he spoke a lot of English. Sounded Russian or something."

Huh. Now Sharpy's intrigued. It's not some standard shipping box, and there's no name or recognizable logo on the outside. It's just black with some red accents, one of those glossy boutique-style gift boxes with the lid that slips off. 

"There was just this," Abby says, handing him a small rectangle of paper folded over in the middle. "Taped to the corner." 

Sharpy unfolds it. All it says, in handwriting he doesn't recognize, is _Mr. and Mrs. Patrick Sharp and Family._ "Well, open it," he says finally. It doesn't _feel_ threatening.

Abby walks over to the kitchen, Sharpy trailing behind her, and sets the box on the counter. She lifts the lid and any worry Sharpy has evaporates at the pleased little squeal she makes. He peers in as she pulls a smaller box out of the first, this one clear plastic. Inside is an assortment of six multi-colored macaroons, followed by another similar box, this one with four assorted chocolate truffles. He leaves Abby to the desserts and picks up the business card that seems to have slid off the top of the pile. It's a local place, but he doesn't recognize the name at all—Heartbreaker Bakery. Not that he goes out and buys a lot of junk, anyway. Abby usually handles things like birthday cakes, and he knows she's got a couple of go-to places, but he doesn't think this is one. "New place, I think," he says, handing her the card and reaching for the next small container in the box. This one has "Madelyn and Sadie" written on it, which he hopes like hell means this is just a gift from someone they actually know. If he can't find an actual note, he'll call the bakery and let them know their courier forgot the card or whatever, or just ask them outright who was sending his family stuff. He opens the box.

It's just cookies. They're the cut-out, shaped kind, decorated in that hard-set icing in a bunch of colors, and they're really cute. Totally the sort of things his girls would love, teddy-bear faces and butterflies.

"There's a note," Abby says triumphantly, handing it over to him. 

He slips his finger under the flap, half-watching her unearth two more boxes—one with four assorted cupcakes, and another that is taped shut, with "PATRICK SHARP. FOR YOUR EYES ONLY" scrawled on it in thick black marker—as he slides the card out of the envelope and unfolds it. The message is in the same handwriting as everything else, and Sharpy blinks at it for a moment. "Son of a bitch," he mutters.

"What? Something wrong?" Abby asks, but he just waves her off and pulls out his phone. He thinks he's still got the number he needs saved. She snags the note from where he's set it on the counter and just raises her eyebrows at him when she reads what it says as he hits "call":

_Thanks for the assist! –Kaner_

"Kaner, buddy!" he greets as soon as there's a "hello" on the other end of the phone. "Hey! Just calling because it seems you might've sent me and my family some things."

"Oh, hey, yeah!" Kaner says enthusiastically. "I just wanted to say thanks, you know."

"Thanks, huh?" Sharpy asks, when he doesn't volunteer anything else.

"Yeah. My sisters love the autographed stuff you and some of the guys sent over."

Sharpy had almost forgotten about that. "Oh, yeah, right," he says, nodding to himself like Kaner can see it. Abby shoves the sealed box at him and he pries the tape off, keeping the phone in place between his ear and his shoulder. "Glad they got a kick out of it."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure they've got the team photo hung up behind the counter and everything."

"That's nice. Still, gotta say I didn't expect to find a gift or anything. And I would have guessed it would be something from your bakery, instead of choosing some local place." He gets the lid off the box and peers inside. "Motherfucker," he whispers, causing Abby to peek over at what he's staring at. She blinks at it, then starts laughing hysterically.

There are six cookies inside, with the same sort of icing the ones for his girls have.

And they're all shaped like dicks.

"Tazer's been holding out on me!" Sharpy exclaims in indignation, to both his wife and to Kaner. "That fucker!"

From the other end of the line, Sharpy hears Tazer's dumb laugh in the background. Kaner says something, but he's laughing, too, and Sharpy misses it. "You sneaky bastards," he mutters sulkily. "I'll get you back for this."

"Hey, Sharpy," Tazer's voice calls out. "Eat a dick!" And then the call disconnects, Tazer and Kaner's laughs cutting off with the call. 

Abby's still giggling when he looks over at her. She's no fucking help. "So," she says, trying to get herself under control. "That was Kaner, huh?" She looks inside the box again, cracking up anew. Finally, she clears her throat and wipes her eyes. "I think I really like that guy."

 _This_ is the thanks he gets for helping a friend and teammate.

Sharpy grumbles but reaches for a cookie anyway. He bites into it viciously, almost more annoyed when it actually tastes good, like vanilla and maybe a bit of almond. "Dicks," he mutters, mouth half-full.

His wife lets out another giggle, kissing him on the cheek as she moves around the counter to snag a cookie for herself. "Yep, 'dicks' sounds about right," she agrees, still smirking. She raises her eyebrows at him. "You know, with Maddy out for another two hours and Sadie just barely down for a nap, we've probably got some time to ourselves..." She licks the tip of the cookie suggestively. "And these have given me some very naughty ideas."

Sharpy's mood improves quite suddenly. Maybe he'll have to rethink his payback.

* * *

With all the cakes and other desserts Abby distributes to everyone they know, earning a steadily growing crowd of converts during the first month the place is open, Sharpy basically guarantees Kaner's new (thankfully family-friendly) place will never go out of business.

He's thinks that's totally worth Kaner making a miniature version of the cake that got it all started for Tazer's birthday next year. And seeing the look on Tazer's face when he opens the box, surrounded by a handful of friends, teammates, and family, is sweeter than all of the baked goods in Chicago, Buffalo, or anywhere fucking else in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> There will be a short little sequel fic of sorts up within a couple of weeks. Just a few scenes we don't get to see here, both in Buffalo and in Chicago, and from Kaner's POV.


End file.
